Wheels
by Kittystitch
Summary: A vignette - When gas rationing puts a kink in the guys' plans, they get creative.


**WHEELS**

Stepping out of the map room and closing the door behind him, Garrison took a deep breath of the relatively clear air in the hallway. He'd been trying to cut back on his smoking habit, and being locked in a room all day with a half dozen two-pack-a-day men wasn't helping. He welcomed the excuse to leave the smoke-choked room to retrieve a file.

He shouldn't have been surprised to find the three of them in his office, all looking like the cat that ate the canary.

"Oh, hey, Warden." Casino sat casually with one haunch on the corner of the desk, dressed in his sport jacket and a clean white shirt. "We were just waitin' for ya."

"Of course you were," Garrison grumbled, rounding his desk and giving Casino a shove to get to the file his safe cracker was sitting on.

Goniff leaned against the filing cabinet, grinning, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his good dress slacks. Chief had been on guard at the door, but had moved out of the way when it opened. He, too, wore his best white shirt and navy blue jacket. Garrison was gratified to see that Actor wasn't with them, probably having given up and retreated to some peace and privacy in their quarters.

"The answer is still no," he told them.

"C'mon, The Doves ain't that far. We'll drive real slow and careful so's not to use too much gas..."

"It doesn't matter how little gas you use, we still don't have any to spare." Garrison flipped through the file, making sure it contained what he needed. When he looked up, his men were still watching him expectantly, so he explained again. "The situation hasn't changed. The base's fuel delivery was delayed this week, and what little we have has to be saved for emergencies."

"But this IS an emergency," Goniff whined. "That group of WAAF's is shippin' out tomorrow and The Doves is throwin' 'em a party..."

"Evidently there's some part of 'emergency' you don't understand," Garrison sighed, giving his office a quick once-over to make sure these three hadn't done anything more than stand around and wait for him. There didn't seem to be anything out of place. "If it's so important, why don't you walk? You've done it before."

"In this heat?" Casino complained.

Garrison pushed past Casino and headed for the door. "Don't even think about 'borrowing' a car. None of them have any gas in the tank."

Casino rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I noticed."

It took exasperated glares from Goniff and Chief before Casino realized what he'd just admitted to. Garrison frowned at his safe cracker. "If you're so bored, I'm sure I can find something to keep you busy, and it won't be any fun in this heat either."

"Alright, alright," Casino conceded. "C'mon guys. We gave it our best shot."

Garrison herded them out of his office and locked the door behind him, even though he knew how useless that was. He started back down the hall toward his meeting, but glanced back briefly to make sure his men were still heading in the opposite direction.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

After a particularly rough week of training, Chief had been looking forward to an evening at The Doves as much as the others. A beer or two and some warm female companionship would be a welcome distraction. But he'd be just as content to hang out in their quarters or try to beat Actor in a game of chess. He knew, though, that Casino and Goniff weren't going to roll over and give up that easily.

He followed them out onto the terrace overlooking the courtyard, where the setting sun painted long shadows across the cobblestones. The changing of the guard was well underway. Soldiers who'd been on duty all day dragged toward their barracks, and the next watch just as wearily took their place. The night crew of civilian kitchen staff greeted the departing day shift as they parked their bicycles in the rack outside the entrance to the mess hall.

Goniff's face lit up. He turned to Casino, who stood with his hands on his hips, a frustrated frown on his face. "Ya know, it's all down hill to the village, ain't it?"

"I guess so, yeah. Why?"

Goniff nodded toward the knot of kitchen workers exchanging gossip around the bike rack. "We can just nick us some bikes and be at The Doves in two shakes, coastin' all the way."

"Hey, that's not a bad idea," Casino grinned. "We'll have 'em back before that crew's done work, and nobody'll be the wiser."

Chief had watched the workers wobble in on the flimsy contraptions, wondering how anybody could keep one of those things upright. An ember of dread flickered in the pit of his stomach. Still, he stepped between his two comrades and nudged Goniff on the arm. "Ain't that Hal, the guy who sneaks you those cookies you like so much?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Maybe you don't wanna get on his bad side."

"He ain't gonna know..."

"Why don't ya just ask?" Chief suggested.

Goniff frowned at him. "Ask what?"

Chief just smiled at the ground and shook his head. It was really hard for Goniff to consider NOT stealing something. "Just ask to borrow the bikes, dad. That's what normal people do."

Casino and Goniff exchanged "why not" shrugs and trotted down the steps toward the group of men now breaking up to start their shift. Chief hung back, pausing on the bottom step to study the collection of bicycles lined up in the rack. None of them looked particularly sturdy. They all sported bent spokes, rust spots, and baling-wire repair jobs. One had a nearly flat tire. But this was the way everyone got around these days with the severe gas rationing. He calculated how long it might take him to walk to The Doves in the muggy evening heat. That chess game was looking better and better.

It didn't take Casino and Goniff long to finish bargaining and stroll back up to the foot of the steps pushing three bikes between them. Goniff climbed onto one that looked like it had been red sometime in the last century, and Casino chose the larger blue one with a missing front fender. Grinning up at Chief, he gave the handle bar bell two sharp rings and gestured at the third bike. "Let's go, babe. The band should be just warmin' up."

"Nah, y'all go ahead."

"C'mon, we've been plannin' this for a week," Casino groused. "Don't bail on us now."

"Yeah, don't ya wanna say a proper goodby to the ladies?" Goniff added. "They're prob'ly gettin' sent to some dangerous typin' and filin' duty someplace."

Chief heeded the growing knot in his gut and turned to head back up the steps. "Tell 'em good luck for me."

He'd almost made it up to the terrace when Casino yelled a challenge. "Ya don't know how to ride a bike, do ya?"

Chief turned on him, swallowing the sudden unexpected flare of anger. "I can ride a bike. But _that_ ain't a bike."

"Ya never had a bicycle when you was a kid?" Goniff asked.

"Where would I get bicycle?"

"Steal one?" Goniff offered, like stealing bikes was the only way anybody got one.

"Ya ride motorcycles, don't ya?" Casino pointed out. "This ain't no different."

"Yeah, it's different. A motorcycle has a motor. And real tires."

"C'mon, give it a shot. It ain't hard." Casino got off his own bike, setting it up on its kickstand, and took the spare from Goniff, pushing it out into the open courtyard. "The balance is the same. Ya just hafta supply your own power."

Chief hesitated. If Goniff and Casino and every 8-year-old on the planet could do it, it couldn't be that hard. And he'd really been looking forward to a slow dance with Corporal Molly Barnes.

"Honestly, it's a piece a cake, babe," Casino encouraged.

Thinking about the pleasant buzz of a few beers and Molly's soft, rounded curves, Chief trotted back down the steps and took the bike from Casino. He straddled it and sat there a minute studying the pedals and feeling how narrow and hard the seat was.

"Just push off and start pedaling." Casino grabbed the back of the seat and smirked, "How 'bout I hold on and guide ya 'til ya get the hang of it, like my brother used to do when I was a kid..."

Chief glared at him until Casino let go and backed off.

When Chief shoved forward, the bike started rolling, and he quickly found his balance with only a little wobble. He picked up some speed as the bike coasted down the gentle slope of the courtyard. But the pedals were spinning free. He tried to catch one with his foot, and it hit him in the ankle. When he looked up, he was practically on top of the thick hedge that bordered the curb. He jerked the handlebars to the right. The front tire caught in the rut between cobbles, and he lost his balance. The bike slid from under him and he hit the curb hard, his legs tangling in the bike's frame.

He kicked the bike away, sending it skidding across the cobblestones. Casino and Goniff were immediately beside him, barely keeping their laughter under control. Hal and the mess crew didn't bother to hide their amusement either. As Goniff tried to help him up, he wrenched out of his grip and pushed to his feet on his own, sucking on the bloody scrape at the base of his thumb.

Casino retrieved the bike. "Ya almost had it. C'mon, give it another go. Second time's the charm."

"Ain't gonna be no second time." Chief brushed the dirt off the sleeve of his jacket and headed for the terrace steps.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

It had been eight straight hours of studying maps and listening to the brass discuss strategies, and Garrison was finding it hard to keep his mind from wandering. As the lowest ranking officer in the room, his opinion wasn't called on much. The view through the big window of the activity in the courtyard pulled him away from the steady drone of General Fremont's voice. He smiled when he saw the guys had found an acceptable alternative for getting into the village. His smile faded as he watched Chief take a nasty spill. That's all he needed — one of his men injured in a stupid accident and out of commission for who knows how long. He was relieved when Chief got up, apparently unhurt, but he was surprised that his scout, who could work magic with any engine, didn't know how to ride a bicycle.

"Lieutenant Garrison?"

His focus snapped back to the meeting at hand when he recognized his name being called, probably not for the first time. "Yes, sir?"

From his seat at the head of the conference table, General Fremont scowled at him, but then said, "It appears we're going to be at this all night, but Captain Edwards needs to get back to London. Please arrange for someone to drive her to the train station. They can use my staff car."

"Of course, sir."

Captain Elizabeth Edwards, the General's aide and secretary, rose from her seat behind Fremont, where she'd been taking diligent notes, and pulled on her cap. She handed her note pad to the corporal sitting next to her and smiled at Garrison as he ushered her from the room.

She turned to him as he closed the map room door. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I thought I was going to suffocate in there. I don't know if it was the smoke or the tedium."

"I know what you mean," he agreed, returning her smile. He'd admired Captain Edwards since he'd first met her at HQ a few months ago. She was smart, capable, dedicated, and probably quite pretty if she'd ever let her hair down from that severe bun. He sensed a spark of adventure in her, well hidden beneath the uniform and the brass on her collars.

He was about to unlock his office and call the motor pool to have one of the enlisted men drive her into the village train station, but then a thought struck him. He'd seen his scout come back inside after he'd taken the fall from the bike, so he stopped at the foot of the staircase and shouted. "Chief!"

When he didn't get an immediate reply, he called again, "Chief, get down here!"

Chief appeared at the top of the stairs, now stripped of his jacket, with his shirt sleeves rolled up. "Yeah?"

"I have a mission for you."

gg gg gg gg gg gg

General Fremont's Cadillac had been parked behind the groundskeeper's shed, well out of sight. Not that Goniff or Casino would have risked taking it, or even siphoning the gas from the nearly full tank. Borrowing a jeep from the motor pool for an evening was one thing, but with the ramping up of the war machine in England, the theft of supplies from the U.S. Army had become a major problem and a serious offense. There had been a time when they all wouldn't have given it a second thought if they'd seen some benefit in it, but that had been in a different time, a different world. Now if they were caught, not only would it mean an immediate return to prison, but it would also mean big trouble for the Warden. None of them wanted to risk that.

The first thing Captain Edwards had done when she'd climbed into the seat beside Chief was rip off her cap and pull the pins out of the tight knot of hair at the back of her neck, shaking it out to tumble around her shoulders. Now, as the big, olive-drab Cadillac ate up the road toward the village, she rested her arm out the window, sailing her hand along in the breeze like a Spitfire chasing a Messerschmitt, tendrils of her long, dark hair whipping around her face.

"Thanks for the lift," she smiled at him, pulling the hair away from her mouth. "It looks like you were dressed to go someplace special. I'm not keeping you from a date, am I?"

"No, ma'am."

"Betsy."

"Huh?"

"I'm Betsy. You don't have to call me 'ma'am' anymore than you have to call Lieutenant Garrison 'sir'."

Chief glanced a smile at her. "Ya mean the Warden."

She laughed out loud. "Somehow I just don't see Craig Garrison fitting that role."

"Then you've never been on a mission with him."

"No, I haven't." Her smile faded as she turned to look back out the window. "I know how dangerous your job is, and I know how well you do it. General Fremont knows, too, even if he doesn't say so."

"It don't matter. The General ain't why we do it."

"I know. The paroles."

"And the Warden."

Chief felt her studying him, but he kept his focus on the road ahead of the blacked-out headlights. As he rounded a curve, two figures appeared out of the twilight shadows on the side of the road. Chief pulled farther to the right to give them space as he sped past. It was Casino and Goniff having some kind of bike trouble. He'd gone by too fast to tell what the problem was.

"Weren't those your buddies back there?" Betsy turned to watch them recede into the distance behind them.

"Yeah."

"Don't you want to stop and help them?"

"They don't need no help. Ain't you got a train to catch?"

She cocked her head with a twinkle in her eye. "Listen, I don't have to be back in London until tomorrow. Isn't there some kind of celebration going on at the village pub tonight?"

"Yeah. You know about that?"

"I have some friends in that WAAF unit. I think I'd like to stop in and wish them well. What about you?"

gg gg gg gg gg gg

Tables had been cleared from the center of the room to make a dance floor, and a band was shoved into a corner near the bar. 'Band' was a generous name for the group screeching its way through "In the Mood" — a couple of veterans from the last war played flute and french horn, a kid who looked to be about 12 blew a mean trumpet, and the pub owner's wife pounded on an out-of-tune piano. All the real musicians were probably somewhere in Italy or North Africa defending the freedom to play bad music. But none of that put a damper on the celebration. Captain Edwards bounced down the stairs into the rowdy crowd of soldiers and WAAF's and was soon lost in the chaos, hugging friends and joining in the revelry.

Pausing on the top step, Chief wondered why he'd ever thought it'd be a good idea to come here tonight. A noisy crowd of strangers had never been his idea of a good time, and the music left a lot to be desired. The thick, damp night air was made even worse by the cloud of cigarette smoke and the press of bodies. But he was here now, and a beer would taste good. He searched the dance floor for Molly Barnes, and eventually caught sight of her boogying with some RAF private, looking like she'd already had several too many. Maybe he could catch up with her later if she lost the fly-boy.

He headed down the stairs as the band finished their piece with a deafening blare of brass. Captain Edwards beckoned to him from a table against the wall. When he reached her, she patted the seat of the empty chair next to her, inviting him to sit. She introduced her friends, but in the din, he didn't catch any of the names. He accepted the mug of beer she pushed in front of him and took a long swig.

While Captain Edwards tried to chat with her friends, Chief leaned back in the chair and savored the beer. It wasn't anything like what he used to drink back in the States, but he'd gotten used to it over the past several months, as they'd spent what free time they had blowing off steam here. He knew the noise would soon have his ears ringing, but it did feel good to be away from the mansion and the other guys, with only the uniforms to remind him there was a war going on.

The band wailed through a couple more rousing dance pieces he didn't recognized. Someone set another full mug in front of him, and he took a couple more healthy swallows. He knew his limit, but tonight he didn't really care. He could feel the beads of sweat crawling down his sides, so he squirmed out of his jacket, threw it across the back of the chair, and settled in to enjoy the crowd of dancers losing themselves to the music.

Chief had emptied half of a third mug by the time the two old guys took a break, setting their instruments on the floor and heading for the bar. But the pianist picked up with a slow, sweet piece, the trumpet joining in with a mournful, longing moan. Captain Edwards leaned in and whispered in his ear, "In the mood for a stroll around the dance floor?" She took his hand and lead him out into the crowd. He didn't resist. She drew him close with her arms around his neck, the faint smell of beer mingling with the light floral scent of her perfume. He slipped his arms around her slim waist and returned her embrace, moving in rhythm with her to the slow melody, feeling her heat seeping through his damp shirt, her heart beating against his. He didn't know the title of the tune, he didn't know the lyrics, but the melancholy keen of the trumpet matched his mood. He held her tighter, wanting nothing more than to sway with her like this for the rest of the night.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

As Casino wedged the wheel-less front end of his bike into the rack outside The Doves, he could hear the music drifting through the open door. He'd worked up a sweat walking that final mile into the village. If the crowd inside had been celebrating for a while, maybe nobody'd notice.

Goniff pushed his bike into one of the other empty slots and handed Casino the broken, twisted wheel. "You could prob'ly straighten it out easy enough, and Gus'll never suspect a thing."

Casino snatched the wheel out of Goniff's hand and threw it to the ground next to the rest of the bike. "'It's all down hill,'" he mocked. "'We'll coast all the way'..."

"Well it is. And we did. Until you hit that ditch..." Goniff pointed out.

"I need a drink." Casino whipped his jacket off the derelict bike's handlebars and rolled down his sleeves. The sight of the shiny Cadillac parked at the curb with the big white star on its door brought him up short. "Ain't that the car that whizzed past us on the road back there?"

"Looks like it. Somebody musta invited the brass."

"Well, that's gonna make for a lively evening," Casino scoffed as he headed for the music. "Hope they brought some of that high-priced booze they're always hoardin' for themselves."

Casino had to step around the couple snuggling at the bottom of the steps as he made his way to the bar. Just in case some big shot was sharing the good stuff, he asked the kid behind the counter for the top-shelf whiskey. With one sip, he knew it was the usual rot-gut, but tonight it would do. This was a party, and he intended to have some fun.

The piano and the trumpet finished the tune they'd been playing and started in on another slow piece when the petite blonde pushed up next to him. "Hi there, Casino. Buy a girl a drink?"

"For you, m'dear, the best in the house." He grinned down at Molly Barnes, appreciating why Chief was attracted to her — the full pink lips, the wide blue eyes, and all the right curves. And she was a flirt. Tonight her petite, feminine form was highlighted by a clinging red silk dress instead of her WAAF uniform, and she'd obviously been partying for a while.

Casino ordered a Scotch for her, and she took a delicate sip, smiling up at him through long lashes. "What kept you? I was expecting you an hour ago," she pouted.

"Just a little problem with wheels, that's all," he explained, anticipating having her all to himself for once, since the Indian wasn't here. "Too bad Chief couldn't make it. He said to wish ya luck."

"But Chief is here." She flicked a hand out toward the dancers. "He came in with that Captain a while ago."

Looking out across the dance floor, Casino picked out Chief with his arms around General Fremont's pretty, dark-haired aide. So that's where the staff car had come from. How the hell had the Indian pulled that off? And he'd almost run them over with it out on the road. Casino could barely contain the hot wave of anger that bubbled up like lava inside him. He stormed through the crowd and grabbed Chief by the arm, yanking him away from his partner. "Hey, Geronimo, couldn't spare two seconds to pull over and give us a lift, could ya?"

Chief's eyes flashed at the sudden assault, but he collected himself quickly. "Looks like you had it under control..."

"Ya nearly ran us over speedin' past like that!" He gave Chief a hard shove. The other dancers edged away, leaving them in the middle of an empty circle on the dance floor. "And where'd you get the damn car? Did ya boost it?" He punched Chief in the chest again. "You lousy half-breed, you're gonna get us all shipped back to stir…"

Chief grabbed Casino's wrist to keep from getting hit again, but that just fueled the anger. Casino yanked his hand free, and with only a flicker of a thought for the lethal blade, he lashed out with a powerful right hook. Chief just barely ducked out of the way, and the blow hit him in the shoulder.

Before Casino could pull back and take another shot, Chief lunged at him, grabbing the front of his shirt, ready to swing.

Captain Edwards pushed between them, forcing them apart with more strength than he would have given her credit for. "Stop it, both of you!"

Even with the girl between them, keeping them at arm's length, Casino held onto his rage, his heart still pounding, his eyes still locked with Chief's dark glare.

The Captain glanced warily between them. "Chief didn't steal the car. General Fremont let him use it to drive me to the train station."

"So nearly running us over was just an extra bonus, huh?"

"If I'd wanted to hit ya, ya'd be dead…"

"Hey, c'mon mates…" Goniff stepped out of the crowd and cut through the tension. "This is suppose to be a party. Why don't ya just shake hands and make up?"

The thick silence surrounding them was almost electric, the crowd probably anticipating a good knock-down-drag-out. But Goniff was right. This was a party, one he'd been looking forward to all week. Casino let the anger drain away, but he wouldn't uncurl his fists until Chief eased off.

Chief exchanged a look with the Captain, then took a step back. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, retrieved his jacket from the back of a chair, and headed for the stairs.

The Captain stopped him with a hand on his arm. "You don't have to go."

"It's gettin' late. Goniff'll make sure you get to your train." He took the steps two at a time and was out the door and into the night.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

As Chief stood at the curb next to the car, the music started up again - another lively dance tune to distract everyone from the fight. He should have listened to his gut - coming here tonight was a mistake. Maybe he should have stopped on the road to help Casino and Goniff - he really didn't know why he hadn't, except that he was still steamed about that sideshow in the courtyard. But that really hadn't been anyone's fault but his own. Casino had only been trying to help, in his own awkward, loud-mouthed way.

Chief pulled the car keys out of his pocket, but he just stood there staring down at them for a long minute. The General probably wanted his staff car back. But he probably wouldn't need it back right away.

Chief looked over at the bike rack next to the pub's front door, where one of the bikes listed drunkenly, its mangled front wheel discarded next to it. He smiled to himself. He could do this. He popped open the car's trunk and found what he needed.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

"There'll be bluebirds over

The white cliffs of Dover

Tomorrow, just you wait and see..."

The band ended the tune with the remaining group of a dozen or so revelers singing along, the attempt at harmony suffering from the general state of inebriation. Molly, burrowed in next to him with his arm around her shoulders, was in tears, either from the bittersweet lyrics or the alcohol. Or both. With his free hand, Casino picked up his mug and downed the remainder of his beer.

The crowd had begun to thin out a while ago. Most of the WAAF's had headed back to their barracks, Captain Edwards had hitched a ride with some Brit officer to catch the last train to Hampton Station, and now the band was packing it in, too. Despite Molly's eager attentions all evening, he still couldn't stop thinking about Chief and the bike. And the fight. He should have handled it better. If Chief had thought they were in real trouble, he would have stopped. And he should have known Chief wouldn't have run them down. He'd spent the entire evening trying to forget about the whole mess, but it wouldn't leave him alone. And it had put a real damper on his mood. Which made him even madder.

Goniff returned from the bar alone, having lost the redhead he was flirting with to one of the locals. "Hey, what time is it, mate?"

With a heavy sigh, Casino glanced at his watch. "Too late to still be hanging around here. It's a long ride back to the mansion. All up hill." Maybe the exertion would wear the edge off his anger, he thought as he untangled himself from Molly. He kissed her lightly on the forehead. "The party's over, sweetheart. Let's get you back to your barracks."

"I guess the band won't be playing anymore, will they?" Molly slurred as she let Casino pull her to her feet.

"Not tonight, babe." He threw some bills on the table and smiled knowingly at Goniff as the pick-pocket took her other arm. It was only slightly awkward getting her up the steps and out the door.

It took his eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness, and it took his slightly tipsy mind a minute to figure out what was wrong with the scene in front of the pub. Was that the Cadillac staff car still parked at the curb?

"Hey, somebody heisted my bike!" Goniff exclaimed. He rushed over to the nearly empty bike rack, leaving Casino to support Molly. The red one he'd borrowed was gone, and the only bike still parked there was the fenderless one Casino had been riding. The busted front wheel had been straightened out and reattached, and there was something stuck to the seat.

Casino was immediately at his side, propping Molly up against the bike rack. He reached down and ripped off the piece of paper that was stuck down with a scrap of electrical tape. It was a page torn from the car's maintenance manual with a note scribbled in the margin. "Keys - top of left front tire."

Carefully, Casino folded up the piece of paper and slid it into his inside jacket pocket.

Goniff was upset that he hadn't been able to read it over his shoulder in the dark. "Hey, what'd it say?"

Casino just smiled and shook his head. He may never figure out that Indian. "It says 'I'm sorry and you're welcome'."


End file.
